


Dinner Date

by WakeUpDreaming



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Banter, Candelit dinner, F/M, Fluff, Grocery Shopping, fancy dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:59:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7940578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WakeUpDreaming/pseuds/WakeUpDreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happy insists she knows how to cook. Toby does not believe Happy can cook. Somebody's got to be right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner Date

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, Beth, my darling, happy birthday! I hope 25 is a wonderful year for you, and I hope your day starts out grand. All the hearts and hugs!

Happy can’t suppress a groan when Toby picks up the phone to order pizza for the third time that week.

“What, I thought you liked pineapples on pizza!” Toby replies. He pouts, making those ridiculous baby seal eyes at her.

“I do,” Happy replies. “It’s just – pizza. Again?”

“They’ve got the best pies in town!” Toby exclaims. “You don’t like pizza?”

“I do like pizza,” Happy sighs. “It’s just – can’t we do something better for once?”

“I can make spaghetti,” Toby says slowly. “Are you mad or something?”

Happy huffs. “Look, nobody knows this, but…” She trails off. “I’ll be back in about an hour.” She picks up her bag and heads toward the door.

“Oh, no!” Toby says, leaping out of his chair and following her. “No way. No more secrets.” When she turns to him there’s a fear in his eyes she hasn’t seen before. “Please, Happy, if something’s wrong –”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she assures him. “I swear.”

“Then – why are you leaving?” There’s confusion and worry, and Happy really hates it.

“I can cook,” Happy mutters. “Like, really well.”

“Yeah, you make great scrambled eggs,” Toby looks confused. “What’s going on? Why’s that mean you have to leave?”

“I never had the money for it, at all, because I was always working odd jobs and just – I bused tables at one of the fancy LA restaurants and I picked up a few things.”

“Like what?” Toby asks. “I’ve surpassed worry and now I’m just maddeningly confused. Why were you leaving?”

“To pick up ingredients for Beef Wellington and a chocolate mousse,” Happy replies. “Because I’m a really good cook.”

“No way,” Toby says, shaking his head slowly. “If those were your – I would know.”

“Like I said,” she repeats, “I’ve never had the money to make any of it recently, but I can do it all. I’m particularly skilled at making cream pies without the eggs scrambling.” She shrugs. “I figured I might make one if anybody ever decided to throw a party around here, but nobody has.”

Toby’s looking at her like he’s never seen her before. “You’re serious.”

“Known me to joke around much, Doc?” Happy asks. “Can I leave and get the stuff to prove this to you now?”

“No, I believe you,” Toby says, following her out the door. “Hap, you don’t need to go and prove anything.”

“No, but I want to make it now and I’m not up for pizza for lunch and for dinner for the whole weekend,” Happy explains. “You can come if you want.”

“I’ve got to see this.” He frowns. “But can we go get burgers for lunch? I’m starving now.”

Happy rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

After burgers at In-N-Out complete with Toby asking a million questions about Happy’s experience busing tables and Happy ignoring half the questions because she really needs to get a move on with her recipes if they want dinner before midnight, they get into the grocery store.

Toby’s like a kid in the candy store as she walks around the aisles, quizzing her on her plans like he’s trying to trip her up.

“Do you think I’m messing with you?” she asks, picking up pre-made pastry. She doesn’t have the time for this part, even though she knows how.

He shakes his head. “I’m just trying to figure out how I missed this for so many years.”

Happy pats his cheek. “You miss a lot when you’re busy mooning over the person you think somebody is instead of really looking at who they are.”

Toby looks impressed. “Did you just shrink the shrink?”

Happy replies with an unimpressed shrug and a choice of a few ingredients for the mousse. “We’ve been together a while now. You’re not that hard to figure out.”

“Wrong,” Toby replies. “Hey, can we get chocolate syrup?”

“No!” Happy says. “God, you act like you’re still in college.”

“To be fair, I was barely a teenager when I was in college.” And there’s that ridiculous grin in here.

“Don’t look at me like that in public,” Happy insists.

“Look at you like what?” he asks, and, oh no, she shouldn’t have said that. He’s starting to look a little too cocky for comfort. “I always look like this.”

“Go get milk and eggs,” Happy says, pointing.

“Milk and eggs are in that direction,” Toby says, pointing behind him, “but thanks for playing.”

Happy rolls her eyes. “You always do the grocery shopping. So sue me.”

“I’d rather kiss you,” Toby singsongs, and before he leaves he kisses her cheek. “Meet you in the bread aisle!”

Happy tries to figure out where Toby gets all this energy from and picks up the last few ingredients she needs. She gets to the bread aisle, where Toby is staring at two different kinds of bread with confusion.

“But why do they have whole grain and whole wheat when they’ve got the exact same ingredients?” He holds it up to Happy. “Wouldn’t production be more effective to just brand it as the same thing and save on packaging design?”

Happy stares at him. “Are you seriously soliloquizing about bread in a grocery store alone?”

“Well, not alone,” he gives her a grin, “you’re here.”

They grab the one labeled whole wheat, because, as Toby says, “It seems more accurate,” and check out.

Toby’s eyes nearly bug out at the price. “And we’re actually – this is. Wow.”

Happy nods. “This is the cost for eating well.”

“I don’t like it.”

She gets to work cooking once she gets home, but unfortunately Toby doesn’t seem all too keen on leaving her alone in the kitchen.

“What about that?” he asks. “Chemically, what does that do?”

“I don’t know,” she replies. “You’ve got a PhD and an MD. You should know more than I should.”

“Why? You’re the chef.”

Happy looks at him, halfway through preparing the beef. “Toby, I never went to college. I don’t have your fancy chemical know-how.”

“Right,” he says, frowning. “But, still.”

He’s mostly talking to himself, but, once he can smell what’s cooking, he lights up.

“That smells much better than a cheeseburger,” he says.

Happy nods. “It better be better than a cheeseburger, otherwise we blew a lot of money on nothing.”

She lets him help with the mousse, because it’s fun to watch a dope like Toby try and wrangle a mixer without getting everything on himself, but he’s decent at it.

“I could learn this,” he says. “I could totally learn this.”

Happy scoffs. “Yeah, okay.”

“I could!” he replies. “If I can memorize the chemical formations of all psychiatric medications, I could figure out how to cook. And bake. Can we make baked Alaska some day?”

“I’m not trusting you around a browning torch.”

He pouts.

“Don’t give me that,” she chides. “We both know what happened with those sparklers on Fourth of July.”

“I was drunk, and you know it.”

It feels like forever, but, finally, dinner is ready. Toby had left her alone for an hour or two, which almost worried Happy, but the time alone was too valuable to break.

“It’s ready,” she shouts across the apartment. “If you took a nap, I’m not going to be pleased.”

He bounds back into the kitchen. “I made the table.”

“You what?”

Happy walks into his living room, which before this consisted of a couch and a table folded up in the corner. He’s set up candles, plates and silverware, and delicately folded napkins on both of their plates.

“Wow,” she says.

“Yeah, I know.” He looks rather proud of himself. “Want some help bringing things in from the kitchen? I won’t drop anything.”

“Well, you are bad with your hands, so,” she lets the sentence trail off.

“You weren’t saying that last night.”

Happy rolls her eyes as the two of them bring in the food. With the bottle of wine in the middle of the table and the lights down, it feels more romantic and serious than they had expected for the night.

“This is way better than pizza,” Happy says, sitting down.

Toby nods. “You’ve got a point.” In the candlelight, he’s more handsome than ever. “Can I eat now? I’m starving. And this looks very good.” And the moment’s a bit broken, though truer to who they are than the candlelit dinner.

Happy nods. “Go ahead.”

There’s a long silence as Toby gets his portion, as he looks at it, as he takes a bite.

She’s a little worried – as much as she’s talked, she hasn’t actually done this particular recipe before. She doesn’t want it to suck – mainly because she knows Toby wouldn’t let her hear the end of it.

“Thoughts?” she asks.

“This,” Toby says, staring at his fork, “is amazing.”

Happy shrugs, but she’s relieved. “You pick up a lot working in restaurants.”

“No, like, Happy,” he says. “This is amazing.”

“It’s not that good.” Happy takes a bite. “Okay, it is, but still. It’s not as good as the professional chefs could make it.” She can’t help but notice that parts of the beef are dryer than she’d like.

“Is it bad of me to wish you could cook like this every night?” He’s got those puppy dog eyes going. “Do you have any other good recipes up your sleeve?”

“Do you have an extra five hundred a month to spend on stupidly expensive ingredients?” Happy asks. “It’s not cheap.”

Toby deflates. “Forgot about that.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she blurts out, “I didn’t – realize that you would like it so much.”

Toby nods. “I grew up with canned pasta and take out. This,” he shakes his head, “I’ve never had Beef Wellington before.”

She smiles at him. “I had it once, and just because the chef was trying new recipes and made us taste it.” She drags her fork through some of the juices left on the plate. “This is my first try at making it on my own.”

“And you made it for me,” Toby beams. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“Yes,” Happy replies.

“Then I’m going to tell you again,” he says firmly. “Because, god, everything that sucked in my past is worth having you in my future.”

Happy blinks. “That was intense.”

“How I feel about both you and this Beef Wellington is intense,” he replies.

Happy laughs. “Just wait until you try the mousse.”


End file.
